O'Hare: Thou art a cruel beast

It's not you, it's me. Or at least that's what I used to think. But no, I was mistaken. The facts, you foul, relentless, vindictive airport, indicate that you are indeed the heartless creature that many warned against:

• Exhibit A
Our first date was when I took a connecting flight through your abominable gates on the way back from India. By the time Amar and I had made it through customs at 6:30AM after a 13 hour flight, you had canceled our flight and were laughing maniacally about it. We sat there for 5 hours in your uncomfortable chairs, with your harsh fluorescent lighting beating down on us, highlighting every sleepless, puffy eye in the worst possible way, waiting for you to get us home.

It was also on that same trip that you wrenched from my hands a longtime companion of mine: a warm, cozy, comforting sweater. Down you sucked it into your bowels, never to be seen again. Alas, fair sweater, I cared for you deeply.


• Exhibit B
A quick weekend trip to Chicago to visit Amar while he was away for two weeks ended on the sourest of notes. This time you conspired with your partner in crime, the Blue CTA line, to ensure that I burned at least 2000 calories sprinting through your linoleum maze, carrying luggage and a crazed look as I searched in vain for the shortest security line, with 3 minutes to spare. And again, your cackle echoed through the hallways as I raced to my gate, the flight attendants paging me over your sound system.


• Exhibit C
Just weeks after the unfortunate morning aforementioned, I was subjected once more to your vengeful madness on my way to Poland. Because you would not give us clearance to land, we sat on an Austin tarmac for 2 hours, watching the nearby cows graze. Once you'd had your fill, feasting on my precious layover time, you allowed us to become airborne, knowing full well that I would once again have to sprint, luggage in-hand, to my gate whilst wildly waving my boarding pass at the flight attendants in desperate hope that they would allow me on the plane.


• Exhibit D
This past weekend, after quite a relaxing and enjoyable few days spent walking the streets of your dear city, you decided to wreak havoc on the Ramas once more. This time you devoured a precious 8 hours of Amar's time, toying with him as you kept delaying his flight repeatedly through the afternoon, teasing him that there just might be the possibility of his making it to Philadelphia in time for a Monday morning meeting. By this time, you had already canceled my flight back to Austin, and in a method only your cunning could concoct, rebooked me on a flight Monday afternoon, which would have left me homeless for a night.

But no, you weren't finished with us yet. Your wrath had yet to be made whole. You would not be satisfied until you had also disposed of our luggage, which would actually arrive in Philadelphia, sans owner, 3 days later.

You chewed us up and spit us out onto Austin soil at 3AM, and while you may have crushed our spirit of adventure, you did not crush our soul. Much to your chagrin, we got our luggage back.

O'Hare, I say to you this: You vex me greatly.